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SUNDAY, JULY 14, 1996

Aakash Shivdasani with Sunita Godara

We're supposed to leave for Thomson, the place where we are actually meant to run, at 11 in the morning. I laze around, clicking pictures, trying to pass the time. At 10.30, I'm pacing the lobby nervously, my uniform (we will all wear uniforms when we take our place in the torch relay) neatly packed into my handbag.

Thomson is about 200 km from Savannah. Our run is scheduled to begin at 4.51 pm. We reach Thomson at around two in the afternoon and immediately do an initial recce of the route by car in order to prepare ourselves mentally. It also familiarises us with the terrain.

Everything goes smoothly. I realise only much later -- when I'm actually running with the torch -- that doing a recce sitting in a car and actually running the route are two very different things.

We break for lunch - lunch, by now, is always nice, light American food. A little later, we assemble in front of the representatives of the Olympic Committee people who brief us on the run. We are already in our uniforms and raring to go.

We are called by name and given our numbers. I am, at 109, the last Indian runner. We are then taken to the starting point. Aakash Shivdasani (an 18-year-old schoolboy from Calcutta who's just out of class 12), the first Indian runner at number 102, is dropped off at his starting point.

At exactly 4.51 pm, we can see the cyclist arrive with the torch. The Georgian motorcycle cop takes Aakash's torch and turns on the gas. Aakash moves to the centre of the road and lights his torch from the flame of the cyclist's torch. He then surges ahead, with Sunita as his escort.

At the end of every kilometre, the torch passes to a new hand.

The run has now reached the centre of Thomson where its citizens have prepared ground for an impromptu ceremony. The fact that the torch is passing through their town, and that a local person will be running with it, is a matter of great honour for Thomson (The Indian numbers are 102, 103, 104, 108 and 109. This break in continuity enables the local runners to take over when the torch reaches the centre of the town).

There is a huge, five-minute, function before the relay continues. It is a small town and the Olympic flame is a major event, akin to an important festival. For hours before the run actually takes place, the crowds are out on the streets.

All the town's celebrities, including the mayor, are there with big, happy, proud smiles on their faces. The whole atmosphere has something to it, you feel you are part of something very big and precious and, before you know it, you are grinning and laughing and cheering with the rest of the crowd.

As I watch the relay proceed, I realise that the people who actually run in the town itself get a lot of fanfare. And I am dropped off in the town. Already, there is a huge crowd waiting for the flame. And this lady, who is leading the relay team steps out and announces, "Okay, this is George Abraham from India. He will be running from this point, so give him a big hand."

The applause is thunderous. I have never experienced anything like it before. I can even see an Indian flag fluttering in the breeze. Everyone is crowding around me; people want to shake my hand, they want my autograph.... I am a celebrity!

One gentleman even requests me to hold a small child so that he can click our picture. It is a very moving moment.

Someone comes up to me. Mahesh Chaturvedi, at number 108, is nearing my starting point. A motorcycle cop then rides towards me with a smile, "How are you, pal?" He turns on my torch and I move to the centre of the road.

The noise has risen to a crescendo. For once, I am confused. I feel all alone as I stand there, on the centre of the road, waiting to take the flame from Mahesh. Mahesh arrives, hot and sweaty. He has managed to complete his stretch despite the fact that he has some problem with his leg. We touch torches, the flame is transferred from his hand to mine.

I start running, the crowd is constantly chanting my name. I wave to them. And, right through the run, I hold the torch with one hand while my other hand waves to the crowd. It feels good. I feel like I'm entering Eden Gardens in the last lap of a marathon relay, with the crowd rooting for me on both sides.

After about 700 metres, my right arm starts aching like mad. I have the option of handing over the torch to the escort runner, but I just cannot bring myself to do it. Eventually, I do manage to carry the torch for the entire distance of about a kilometre.

I, for one, am most surprised that it took me only five minutes to cover that distance. The excitement of the moment must have helped me complete that run; if someone asks me to run that distance today, I don't think I will be able to do it.

Once I hand over the flame to number 110, the motorcycle cop drives over. He smiles, reaches for my torch and turns off the flame. A couple of minutes later, he turns on the gas again until all of it drains off. After that, the torch belongs to me, for me to pack and bring home.

All the while, I am posing for photographs, signing autographs and talking to people.

Two schoolboys had accompanied me during my run. Now, they want a picture with me as a momento. Luckily, one of the Coke chaps has a Polaroid and they let us pose for a picture. And then, someone else claims my attention.

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. One of the lads who has run with me wants his copy of the photograph autographed. It is strange, heady feeling. After all, it has always been the other way round. I used to be the one running around getting autographs from people and, now, people are running after me.

But I also feel slightly empty. My tryst with the Olympics is over. I had been to Atlanta. I had run in the Olympic torch relay. I had taken my place in history...

We get into the van and begin the three hour journey back to the DeSoto Hilton in Savannah. We dine at an Italian restaurant that night, but I guess we are all fagged out. I don't enjoy the food too much; in fact, I think the pizzas at Nirula's taste much better.

We are to leave for Atlanta the next day, after a bit of sightseeing. From Atlanta, we will all go our separate ways. I will go to New York, Sunita will head towards Chicago and the rest will split in different directions.